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I felt my lips start to curve into a smile, one I didn’t even try to temper.
“I’m fine, and we are even better,” I said.
He stared at me for a moment longer, and then I watched the smile spread across his face.
It got bigger and bigger, and he leaned forward and kissed me.
I kissed him back, but there was no urgency in it, not really.
Because even though I had suspected it before, I knew now, without a doubt, that I was his forever.
That he was mine.
And as he kissed me, then hugged me, then made love to me so thoroughly that I didn’t know where I ended and he began, I knew it would always be this way.
Later, I lay in his arms, facing him.
His expression, which had been so clear, so free, clouded ever so slightly.
It struck me how I felt so in tune with him now. How even that little change was something I hadn’t missed.
I brushed my thumb along his forehead, trying to soothe away the worry I saw there.
He let me touch him but then pushed my hand away, squeezed my wrist slightly, but then let it go.
He moved back, made sure no part of us was touching.
And then he met my eyes.
“You know what happened today, right?” he said.
“I do,” I responded.
“Do you want to know details?” he whispered.
“Would you tell me if I did?”
“Yes. Because you deserve to know,” he said.
“Why?”
“He was your father—”
I shook my head, cutting him off.
“He wasn’t. Whatever blood we shared, he was never my father,” I said, the fierceness in my voice surprising even me.
“Still, you didn’t feel that until recently. Before, for your entire life—”
“Means nothing,” I interrupted.
As I lay there, staring at him, I felt a feeling rise.
Anger, anger that got stronger and stronger as he stared at me.
He shared my conviction, my certainty, and he understood it.
“Amethyst,” he finally said, looking at me with an earnestness in his eyes, “I know this is fucked up—”
